


Hate to Say Goodbye

by Nothoney



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothoney/pseuds/Nothoney
Summary: Even as she handed him all the secrets her life was worth (in her father's eyes, at least) he knew he'd have to say it again. For her. For the secrets themselves.And how he hated it. How he hated that he couldn't do anything to make her life better. To protect her. To watch over her, as his beloved teacher had asked.It just had to be done.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at anything RoyAi. I hope I got the dynamic acceptably right.  
> I wrote this for the FMA Secret Santa 2016 for Megzie111.

Roy adjusted the bouquet in his hand, straightening out the creases in the paper wrapped around, fiddling with the ribbon every now and then. Ten minutes must have passed with him standing outside Riza's door. One of her neighbors had noticed, and asked if it was because of her transfer. Roy had nodded, and the lady disappeared into her own apartment after remarking that Riza didn't seem all too happy about it.  
Of course she didn't feel happy about it, Roy thought, rapping the door with his knuckles twice. He was certain she though he'd lost his mind. He would be thinking something along the lines of that as well in her position.  
Even as her door cracked open and Hayate's bark of recognition floated out from hallway, he knew he was in for a painful night. But he smiled behind the flowers.  
"Hope you have a vase for these," he said.  
Riza sighed. "I'm afraid not, sir," she shook her head, moving to the side to let him in. "I told you as much a few months ago." Her hands took it from his nevertheless. The door closed behind him.  
"Over six months ago, Captain," he corrected, bending down to scratch Hayate behind the ears. "One would think that you would buy such adornments if you stayed in one place for a year."  
"Even if I did have one, General," she quipped, "it would be pointless to put them in a vase tonight."  
His finger paused in the middle of a scratch. Hayate rubbed his head against his palm at the loss of contact.  
That was right. Her train to the north was tomorrow. She wasn't coming back here tomorrow night. He gave Hayate one last pat and stood up. Boxes lined the far wall of the small living-cum-dining room. He didn't have to look to know that the shoe rack beside him was empty as well. In her room, her suitcase would be at the foot of the bed, packed and ready.  
Roy gulped. So much for not bringing it up.  
Before he could say anything in his defense, however, Riza moved toward the kitchen. "I'll set the table now, sir," she said with so much impassiveness he knew she was taking things way worse than he'd hoped.  
Even Hayate seemed to feel the unhappy energy from his mistress. He followed behind her, whimpering.  
He heaved as inaudible a sigh as possible, then took off his shoes and coat, and followed her inside.  
She gave off the vibe that she didn't need any help. He knew she didn't, but on any of the other occasions he'd had the honor of having a meal at her place, she'd asked him to set the plates or bring out the dishes. Now, she worked with a self-assured aura that was almost frightening; pouring out the curry onto two plates, rinsing glasses, setting up cutlery. He could only stand at the doorway, watching, wondering if this time he'd overstepped one too many a boundary. Like Hayate, sitting with his tail curled up, occasionally chancing a whimper. Except Roy didn't have the need to follow his instinct of making a puppy dog face at her.  
She hadn't addressed him with anything other than his rank, even though his first word upon seeing her had been more than enough indication that he wanted ranks out of the window. Tonight of all nights, at least.  
The silence was suffocating. He had to say something if she wasn't going to.  
"I almost ended up buying another car-full," he said shoving both hands into his pockets. She threw him a quizzical look over her shoulder, pausing in the act of plating spaghetti. "You know," he added hastily, "flowers. Like I did that time you told me about your vase crisis."  
She smiled ruefully before turning back to the work at hand. Her posture softened a bit.  
He knew she'd understand if he explained. He just had to figure out the right way to do it. Until then, if she gave him the cold shoulder, he'd just have to deal with it.  
"Which florist sells you so many?" she asked, her voice politely curious.  
"I've told you about her before," he said, shrugging. "She's related to the Armstrongs. Pretty loaded on information."  
"I see."  
She didn't look up, and didn't say anything more till the meal was set.  
##  
The first time, he wasn't sure how he'd react if he saw her again. He'd just perfected his basic knowledge and practice of alchemy. Had just received the letter that would take him one step closer to achieving his dream. Had completely disregarded Master Hawkeye's dislike for the military.  
He knew he wouldn't be welcome, even if he did come back at some point. Definitely not by the patriarch.  
He wasn't sure how either of them would react. After the easy friendship they'd built, a cushion against the older man's emotional unavailability, it felt like fate was against them.  
He didn't want to leave. But he couldn't stay either.  
He'd thought that goodbye would be hard.  
##  
He hadn't expected it. Not even for one second in his entire life. It hadn't even occurred to him in his wildest imaginations.  
That a father could place something so valuable on his daughter's back. Etch it into her skin. Mar her forever.  
It didn't make sense, at that moment when she showed him the engravings on her back for the first time, why it bothered him so much. But even as she handed him all the secrets her life was worth (in her father's eyes, at least) he knew he'd have to say it again. For her. For the secrets themselves.  
And how he hated it. How he hated that he couldn't do anything to make her life better. To protect her. To watch over her, as his beloved teacher had asked.  
It just had to be done.  
##  
It occurred to him later on, when he recognized the blonde hair under the hood, the warm brown eyes ringed with shadows, at the bottom of the dune, that fate probably loved playing with them. It made sense, because she didn't belong here. She didn't deserve to be turned into a murderer. Him being forced to let her down was bad enough.  
This would leave marks on her much deeper than the red lines on her back, much as it was branding him. His ideals were being turned to rubble. He could only imagine what it would to her.  
And he wished, desperately wished, that he could do something, anything, so she wouldn't have to live this nightmare.  
Perhaps if they hadn't met, things wouldn't hurt so much.  
He wouldn't know her. She wouldn't trust him. He wouldn't be setting things aflame.  
So, when she asked him to scar her, just so another him would never happen, he agreed. The pain wouldn't go away, he knew, but that particular wound would be sealed.  
And it was once again them and the bittersweet word.  
##  
It had become a sort of routine, after he appointed her the task of keeping him on track. A sad little game of hide and seek, dancing around sentries that would overthrow their lives, their sanity, if they got caught. They were the only things that could calm each other.  
Once again, they weren't prepared. When it hit, it took not only her, but every scrap of strength he'd gathered.  
He learned anew the torture that a "goodbye" brings. She was there, in front of him, everyday. But only just. Watching was all he was allowed to do.  
In this very city, he'd almost lost her twice. He'd allowed her to almost lose him. That word, that cursed word. He didn't ever want to say it.  
Not to her. Not to anyone he knew and cared about. But especially not to her. Even the thought made him want to go blind.  
And that was saying something.  
Not knowing her would be better than letting her go at this point. He knew she felt the same. They'd come a long way.  
##  
There was a reason he'd pulled that trick. And he couldn't talk about it in front of anyone at headquarters. They had to be alone. Away from prying eyes and curious ears. She just had to trust him, like she always had.  
"I still don't get it, General," Riza said, curling the strands of spaghetti on her fork, a disinterested frown on her face. "Why do I have to transfer to Briggs when we could directly transfer to Ishval? Why the detour?"  
Roy pouted at her use of his rank. "We've been alone for an hour, it's your last night in Central, and you still insist on calling me that?"  
She leveled a familiar glare at him. "Don't change the subject."  
"You're no fun, Riza," Roy sighed before taking her unoccupied hand into his. "You need a detour because I have plans."  
She rolled her eyes, frustrated. "Plans that I can't find heads or tales of."  
"You can," he said, smiling. "If you look close enough." He waited for her to go through possibilities in her head.  
It was difficult convincing Major General Armstrong his reasoning, and even more difficult to get her to agree. But he'd managed. It would throw their Ishval mission into a delay of, oh, two months. But he was ready to go through that if it meant they could stop hiding.  
If it meant he could give her even a fraction of what she deserved.  
He watched as comprehension dawned on her features, combined with denial, uncertainty.  
"Roy," she breathed, after minutes of confused silence.  
"Now you say my name. I was starting to think you'd forgotten it."  
She squeezed his hand, her brows knitting together. "Isn't it too risky? We've come too far to...to let us get in the way..."  
He squeezed her hand back, the meal between them all but forgotten. It was rare for her to have trouble with words. And it was absurdly endearing. "I'm sick of hiding, Riza. I want to do something right for us for a change.  
"Once you spend a couple of months in Briggs, the Major General will appoint you a position in the envoy the North sends to Ishval. And then we can drop pretenses."  
Riza watched him. And watched him. Emotions flooded her eyes one by one. The uncertainty from before. The denial. And the best of them, hope.  
##  
In the crowded platform, among the bustling passengers and people bidding friends goodbye, Roy was painfully aware of only one person. She was boarding a train. She was leaving the post she'd sworn herself to: To follow him to hell if need be.  
And they couldn't be happier.  
He patted Hayate before putting him in the pet carrier, and then scratched him through the grates a few times. "Be a good boy, okay?" The Shiba Inu nuzzled what little of Roy's hand it could reach.  
Riza's luggage had been loaded just a few minutes prior. The entire team, with the exception of Falman, was here. Even Havoc, a little unsteady on his feet, crutches tucked under his arms, but very much here. Captain Catalina was making a great show of crying on Riza's shoulders.  
"I can't believe Brigadier General FirePants let IceQueen take you away," she wailed.  
Riza patted her back gently and said, "It's not a tug of war, Becca." A sigh was eminent on her face.  
Finally, the men managed to squeeze in a hug between the best-friend's clinginess. Feury snuck Hayate a last minute snack.  
"It's going to be a laggy few months without you, Hawkeye," Havoc said. "Besides you, we don't know anyone who can get boss working."  
Riza raised an eyebrow, inherently amused. "That had better not be the case. He promised me to be on full alert and full functionality." Her gaze darted to Roy. "That's a promise I'm expecting you to keep, sir."  
Roy crossed his arms in mock indignation. "How many promises have I made to you and not kept, Captain?"  
"A lot," she deadpanned. "Mostly about paperwork."  
The entire company erupted in a round of chuckling, only to be interrupted by the train whistle.  
”I guess that's my call," Riza said. Roy felt a sudden desperation clawing inside him. An urge to hold onto her and never let go. But he pushed the instinct down, and watched as she climbed up the closest doorway. This tiny separation was a necessary step toward forever.  
She turned, waving at them all, as the first dredges of power began to pull the train forward.  
He would still dread goodbyes, like he always had. He'd still hate them. But as he caught her eye, and waved back, he couldn't be more confident that this particular goodbye would bring them both happiness on the long turn.


End file.
